


Tremble.

by orphan_account



Series: Fleeting [2]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-27
Updated: 2012-07-27
Packaged: 2017-11-10 21:07:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Withdrawal really sucks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tremble.

Tony wakes up coughing, dry heaving, all his guts screaming at him and clenching painfully. His head is pounding, and his skin is clammy. Way too sober to be this hungover. He blinks a few times, but the florescent light in the bathroom doesn’t dim at all. “JARVIS, dim the lights.”

“Can’t understand you, sir.”

He’s going to rip the speaker right out of the fucking wall one of these days. Still, he was talking into the toilet bowl, so maybe that was a legitimate misunderstanding. Maybe. Misunderstandings are still pissing him off. He turns around. “Dim. The lights.” The lights become dimmed, and he sighs in relief. He picks himself up off the floor and flings open the medicine cabinet, and winces when it slams against the wall because that was a really stupid idea. He pops about four Tylenol and shuts his eyes again.

“JARVIS? What time is it?”

“The time is 5:43 a.m., sir. Shall I start coffee?”

“No thanks. Direct all calls to voicemail. Emails, too. Especially if they’re insistent.”

“… All calls, sir?”

Tony glares at the speaker. “… Fine. Keep lines for Ms. Potts open.”

“Just her?”

“… Dr. Banner, too.” Why did he program JARVIS to be so keen on his brainwaves, again? Tony knows Bruce won’t call, though. He kicks off his boxers and slips into bed, the room thankfully pitch black and soundless. The second he hits the sheets he’s out like a light.

He bolts up from the bed in a panic, heart pounding in his ears. The last thing he remembers from his dreams is Yinsen bleeding out on the floor. Nothing ever feels right when he dreams about Yinsen. “Don’t waste it,” his ghost words say, and Tony never needed or wanted a second conscious. Bruce hadn’t gotten it quite right, hadn’t taken post-traumatic stress disorder into consideration. Though he guesses the alcoholism was a bit more pressing at the time. He remembers the shattered glass and winces, hoping to God someone cleaned up his mess while he was out cold.

Tony holds his hand in front of his face, examining it carefully. A fine tremor. Well, that’s new. “JARVIS, how long has it been since my last drink?”

“About 12 hours, sir.”

So the time is about right. He swipes a hand over his face clumsily. It’s like his body has given up on him, too. He notices a pool of cold sweat clinging to his sateen sheets. He really doesn’t want another drink but all his muscles feel like they’ve balled up under his skin, and it hurts like a bitch. He rubs his neck, afraid to roll it forward lest all the blood start pounding in his head again. Psychologist One told him this might happen. He was on Psychologist Fifteen. This one probably isn’t a keeper, either, but at least she knows when to shut the fuck up. And more importantly, when to make him shut the fuck up. It’s not so bad so far. She’s given him two weeks to get to step one. 24 hours sober. It’s not exactly AA’s idea of a twelve-step program but she decided he was too bull-headed to admit anything to himself, which was why she was still hired.

His fingers tap on his phone. No missed calls. Not unexpected. Pepper gave up the call-a-day thing because she was just too busy, and they’d switched to the occasional voice chat. Bruce is definitely never going to call first.

He shakes all over, and curls back into a ball on top of the sheets. God, it hurts, he wishes he could just sleep for days but he really can’t, he has to get up. Now. Now, Tony. Legs over the side of your goddamn bed. Nothing moves. “JARVIS, what time is it?”

“9:57 a.m., sir. Coincidentally three minutes before your alarm. It has been 18 hours since you’ve had water and food, sir. Would you like to call someone to bring breakfast?”

“I’ll get it myself.” He swings his legs over the bed finally, and tries standing up. His legs shake so bad he ends up face-first in the carpet before he can catch himself.

“Should I tell the board you are incapacitated?” Right, the meeting was in 20 minutes or so. Dammit.

“For now. Call Ms. Green and ask her to bring me water.” Ms. Green is his temporary secretary. Thank God she is temporary.

“Might I suggest you put clothes on first, sir?” Tony groans, but paws around for his boxers anyway, slipping them on lazily and sitting up with his back against the bed. He closes his eyes and lets his head rest back against the mattress.

Ms. Green comes in, blushing and tittering and giggling behind her hand as she hands the water down to him. “Good morning, Mr. Stark.” Her high-pitched voice makes his head start to throb again. Nice legs, though, especially from this angle. He gives her a curt smile that’s nothing short of venomous.

“You didn’t happen to bring food, did you?” She throws a bagel on his chest and he nods. “That will be all.” She’s standing stock-still, smiling at him vacantly. He knows she’s checking him out in his mostly unclothed state but the level he cares about that is precisely zero. “Thank you. Goodbye.” She sort of pouts and leaves the room again, every clack of her heels a knife to his temple. She’s probably off to tell her watercooler friends what she just did. Tony rolls his eyes. He wishes Pepper would come home.

He takes a sip of the water and nearly spits it out. God, his mouth tastes fucking terrible. He swishes the water between his teeth and reluctantly swallows because there was no way he’s going to make it all the way to the bathroom to spit it out. After that first sip, though, it tastes like something sent from heaven. He finishes the whole glass within five minutes. Probably not the wisest decision, but at least his hands have stopped shaking as badly as they were. He tests standing up and is decidedly more successful. A smile breaks on his face. It’s like the first time all the pieces of the suit fit together just right, except it’s probably not a life-changing victory. Or maybe it is. He climbs on the bed and eats his bagel piece by piece.

“JARVIS? Call the board back, tell them I’ll be there, but a little late.”

“I’m sure they’ll be jumping in their chairs at the news, sir.”

Tony snorts to himself. The board hates him, and he’s given them plenty of reason to hate him. He finishes breakfast and picks out a suit. Maybe today he’ll go with a bowtie.


End file.
